Another Chance
by phyca
Summary: DRR. Our intrepid agents are mysteriously taken back in time to 1987. But there's a catch... [A/N - I realized I made some date errors in the original chapters. All should be fixed now.]
1. Chapter 1

January 3, 6:30 A.M.

"Mi hija!"

Monica made a face and wondered what her mother was doing in her dream. And then she opened her eyes and wondered what the hell she was doing back in her old room.

"Monica! I have been calling you all morning! There is no more time to sleep! Get up, get up! We must leave in a few hours and you are not even packed!" Her mother was standing there, staring down at her, giving her 'that look,' the one she used to give her willful and headstrong daughter all the time when she was growing up.

"Mama?" Monica scrunched up her brow and looked at her mother as though she hardly recognized her. It was definitely her mother, but her mother looked so much younger. Her hair was darker and her face held fewer lines. "What's going on? Why am I home?"

"Why are you still in bed is a much better question. Your flight is in three hours. Come now. Adela has made you breakfast. It is getting cold."

"Adela?" asked Monica, sitting up in bed. "But Adela is dead."

Her mother stopped with her fussing and looked at her daughter with great concern. "Why would you say a thing like that? You worry me sometimes. Was it a dream? Did you dream something? Did you dream that Adela was going to die?" Her mother put her hand to her heart, a sign that she was beginning to panic. She had learned over the years to put that kind of faith in her daughter.

"No...I wasn't dreaming...no, I was dreaming. About John...not Adela...no..." She put a hand up to her head and squeezed her eyes close, trying to remember her dream, trying to understand what was going on, all the while hoping that this was part of a dream too.

"John? Who is John? You have not told me about anyone named John. Is this a boy from school? You know we don't approve of you dating. You are to be concentrating on your studies. You worked so hard to get into Brown. Boys will only distract you and lead you astray." She sat on her daughter's bed and took her hand away from her face. "Mi hija...tell me, did you dream that Adela would die? What happened, tell me! If you can save her, you must."

Monica was reeling from the insinuation that she was a student at Brown again. Things were beginning to come together in a most frightening way. "No, Mama. I'm sorry, I was just confused. Adela is fine. She'll be fine for a long time now. Trust me. I know. Go now, tell her I will be down soon." Her mother's eyes were skeptical but yearning to believe her daughter. "I promise." She squeezed her mother's hand and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

After her mother had departed, Monica carefully rose from the bed. She made her way over to her vanity without breathing and after a second to prepare, she took a look at the image in the mirror. Her heart just about stopped. There she was in all of her 18-year-old glory - short hair, made a fright by the sad reminder of a perm, and a face still full from adolescence, not yet worn thin by adulthood. Her body was larger than she remembered, though far from fat, it was not as lean and sculpted as she last remembered it to be. Her closet was full of clothes she'd long since learned to think unfashionable, and she pulled out the blandest, simplest outfit she could find amongst the flowery patterns, bright colors, and oversized items available.

Her mother yelled for her again, but she was paralyzed. She sat in the nearest chair and began to tremble. What was going on? She knew she hadn't dreamed the last 15 years. What had set her back to 1987? And more importantly, how would she ever return to 2002?

John... John would know. She had to find him. 1987... that meant John was just starting with the NYPD.

Her mother called again, with much frustration hanging on her voice. Monica jumped as she had when she was a teenager and ran downstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

January 3, 5:23 A.M.

John was awoken by the sound of a crying infant. And not just any infant. It was a cry that was very familiar to his ears. He recognized it immediately and feeling that he was waking up, refused to open his eyes for fear the dream would dissipate before he could fall back asleep.

"John, please, for the love of God, would you go get him? I was up with him from 1 till 3."

He sat up very suddenly.

"Jesus, do you have to shake the whole bed? I just want to get another hour of sleep."

"Barbara?" he asked incredulously.

"What, John, what?" she was obviously stressed.

"I..."

"Will you please go get Luke? Please? I'm begging you." She rolled over to plead with him, her eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears of exhaustion.

"I... yeah... sorry... was sleeping real deep..."

His chest was tight as he followed the sound of the cries. And when he walked into the nursery and found his infant son red-faced and angry, he too began to cry. He picked up his son delicately and then held him close, kissing the squirming infant with joy. "Luke, Luke, Luke," he repeated over and over again, treasuring the moment, too afraid to question it for fear that it would all go away.

Luke did not quit his crying and John began to fear that Barbara would come stalking in there to take over. There was also the smell of a dirty diaper to be dealt with. He tenderly undressed his son, marveling over how tiny his hands and feet were, crying again over the fact that he was looking at his boy again. He still did not question, instead choosing to concentrate on memorizing all the features that had escaped his memory over time. He picked up his newly diapered son, amazed that the boy was about a year old, and took him to the kitchen for a new bottle.

The kitchen, the house, his wife, his infant son... these things started to raise questions with the silence that ensued the moment Luke had his bottle in his mouth. What was going on? Why was it suddenly 1987 again? What had happened? He didn't feel like he was asleep. Luke felt very warm and very real in his arms. He could smell his slightly sour, milky smell, and could hear the gentle sucking sounds. Nothing looked out of place. Time wasn't lagging or skipping. It felt very much like reality, not a dream.

Had he instead dreamed the last 15 years? That too seemed all very real, but memories pale in comparison to reality. Besides, John Doggett was a man who preferred to believe what he saw rather than what he remembered. Unless he knew for damn sure that he was right. And he just couldn't shake the feeling that his memories were very vivid, very real, and very much to be believed. He wondered if there was an X-file on the subject, but quickly realized that he didn't join the X-files until 2000... not for another 13 years. In fact, he was pretty sure Mulder hadn't even started them up again. And Monica...god, Monica. He remembered now that that was the real dream he'd been woken from. Something about Monica. Where was Monica now in all this? If he'd truly woken up fifteen years earlier than when he'd gone to bed, then Monica must be...just a kid, really. He wondered if she remembered the last – or next – fifteen years. He wondered if anyone remembered.

His reverie came to an end when Luke finished his bottle. Again he was taken with the wonderment that was his second chance with his son. He couldn't put him down, couldn't separate himself. He dressed him in clothes he'd forced himself to forget – the little race car onesie with the matching socks. He played tickle and peek-a-boo and talked to him. When the phone rang, he carried the boy with him, rather than leaving him in his playpen.

"John Doggett."

"Doggett, what the hell are you doing at home? Shift started 10 minutes ago."

"O'Reilly?" he asked with great confusion.

"Get your ass over here, I can't keep covering for you."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Sorry, rough night with Luke. He's got some new teeth coming in and he's running a slight fever."

"You used that excuse yesterday. _I_ used that excuse _for_ you yesterday. Hurry it up!"

The phone conversation over, John had no choice but to return Luke to his crib. He remembered feeling this heavy-hearted feeling fifteen years ago, but this time it actually brought him to tears again. He feared never seeing Luke again.

"Baby, what's wrong? Who was that on the phone?" Barbara came up to him and wrapped her arms around him.

"I... sorry... was just thinking about how perfect our son is. Didn't know you were up."

She smiled at him and kissed him in appreciation. "That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard you say." She looked at her watch. "You know you're late for work again?"

"Yeah, that was... O'Reilly. I gotta get going."

In the bathroom, though he'd suspected it, he still found it a shock to look into the mirror and see himself 15 years younger. It was pleasing but disconcerting. Twenty-seven. He couldn't believe it. There were no signs whatsoever of middle age. His face was still young and fresh, his hair darker and fuller, his body thinner and more chiseled. There wasn't time to appreciate the changes though... he was running late.


	3. Chapter 3

January 4

Back in her freshman dorm room for the first time in fifteen years, Monica was still reeling from the situation. But she was doing an admirable job keeping her wits about her. She remembered her roommate's name and managed to keep up conversations with the other girls in the dorm, though the subjects were so old they were foreign to her. She was able to find her way to the library, but was distraught to remember that it was closed at this time of night. There was no computer, there was no Internet. How did people do this?

The telephone operator. Finally, she had a solution, or rather, a way to take a small step in answering what had happened. There was an Officer Doggett, the woman at the station told her, but he wasn't on duty. She should call back in the morning.

Morning meant buying textbooks – following a very embarrassing trip to the registrars' office, for she had forgotten all of her courses. The Bible as Literature, Elementary Hebrew, the Religions of Southeast Asia, and Introduction to Latin Literature. As much as she'd loved school, she wasn't so thrilled with having to subject herself to it all over again. Especially given that some of it would be a review now. Might as well make the best of it, she figured. But first she had something to do.

"This is Officer Doggett."

"John!" Hearing his voice brought out all the emotion of the last two days and she found that she could not restrain herself. A few of the kids in the vicinity turned to look and made faces at her outburst.

"Monica?"

"Oh, god, John, you do remember. I knew you would."

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" he asked and then dropped his voice to a whisper. "You do remember the last 15 years, right? You remember working together? The X-files?"

"Yes, like it was yesterday. I don't understand what happened. I think maybe we should try and get together to figure it out."

"Where are you?"

"At Brown. Providence. You're over in New York, right?"

"Yeah. Look, I don't know when I can get up there. I'm... I'm working."

Monica gave a short huff of a laugh. "Lucky you, I'm in college all over again. I'll try and come over this weekend. Do you think you can get some time off?"

"I'll see what I can do. I can't talk now, though. Do you have a number I can reach you at?"

She gave him the number on the dorm phone and they hung up. So much for resolution. She was left to face university life again.

On Friday , as she was napping to recover from the sleep deprivation she'd already accumulated during the week, her roommate roused her. "Hey sleepyhead, you've got a call downstairs."

She was relieved to finally hear John's voice - the last half-dozen calls had been from her mother, who was still fretting over Adela and this John she'd mentioned, among a dozen other things.

"I can't talk long," he whispered. "But if you can make it to New York around 3 in the afternoon on Sunday, I can meet you at the train station, ok?"

"Ok." She interrupted him when he tried to end the call. "One more thing... you're married again, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he said in a voice that was neither happy nor sad.

"And... Luke?"

"Yeah, he's here. He's just a baby. He's..." John was getting choked up and Monica who'd known him so well for so long could easily tell.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm happy for you, John. I'll see you Sunday."


	4. Chapter 4

January 11

"Oh my god! Look at you!" she cried, running to meet him. "You were so handsome at twenty-seven!"

"What? Did you doubt that?" he smiled, and for a moment it was like old times. But he didn't return her hug as enthusiastically as she gave it, and in fact, pulled away from her.

"John? What's wrong?" 

"Nothing...it's just... I mean, I'm married again, I know half the cops in the city, and I can't really be seen hugging some unknown college girl. Let's grab a taxi and find some place secluded."

Finally alone in a private booth in a small, unassuming bistro, John poured out everything to Monica.

"I don't really know where to begin. I mean, I'm beyond happy to be back in my old life again, to be with my wife again before things went bad, and most of all, to have Luke back. But I'm terrified that I'll wake up tomorrow and find everything the way it was again. But this isn't really how it was. It's all familiar, and because it's all familiar, it really doesn't feel the same, you know? I can't really look at Barbara as if I still thought we'd spend the rest of our lives together, because I know we didn't. But at the same time, I can't look at Luke the same way either. I've hardly been able to put him down when I'm at home. Barbara is happy to see it, but I know she wonders why I'm not the same. And the guys at the station, they keep asking me why my head's in the clouds, and I tell them that it's just the baby, but I don't know how much longer they'll keep believing that. And I... Hey," he said, his face suddenly brightening up, "do you want to see him? I have his picture in my wallet."

She smiled her familiar smile of warmth and joy and said, "Of course." He pulled out a whole collection. "We just had these taken for his first birthday. He just turned one on Friday, if you can believe it. Had a big party yesterday. I can bring those pictures next time. Got a good shot of him covered in cake and icing."

"He's really beautiful, John. You know, I never really saw many baby pictures of him. I bet he's even cuter in person."

"Yeah, he's a looker all right," said John, ever the proud father. "Maybe you could meet him sometime."

"That would be nice." She didn't say it, of course, but she was thinking about how she'd never had the chance to meet his son. He could read it in her eyes... he knew the look that said she was thinking about Luke's death.

"If we can't get out of this, Monica, I could save him, you know? I could go after Bob Harvey now and see that he's arrested and out of commission for a good long while. Maybe even put a sting on Regali now, but that's a big one, more FBI territory than NYPD."

"Yes, you could." She looked down at the table, obviously following a long train of thought.

"You want to go back, don't you?"

"I do. But I understand why you feel the need to stay. Whether we stay or not, though, we still need answers. You may be ready to just accept this as it is, but I can't. Don't you wonder what happened? Don't you see that if we're the only two people that remember this, then it's probably connected to us? Have you tried to contact anyone else? Scully, Skinner, Mulder, anyone?"

"I managed to track down Skinner and Mulder - they're both at the FBI - but neither one returned my phone call, which leads me to believe that they don't know who the hell I am. Scully should be in college right now, just like you."

"Poor Scully," she said. "We should come up with a list of anyone who might be connected. Do you remember anything before this happened? I remember almost nothing... everything's hazy. Which is strange. I usually can recall what I did the day before, even what I ate, and how well I slept. The only thing that sticks out is that I remember you were in my dream, but even just after I woke up, I couldn't remember what the dream was about."

"I think you were in my dream too. But other than that, yeah, the day before I woke up here was all a blur. Worse than a blur. I really can't remember a damned thing. But everything up till then is all crystal clear. I remember our last case, I remember dropping off my dry-cleaning a few days earlier, I remember the score of Sunday's game. It's crazy."

"Yeah. You should try worrying about this and being underage. I can't even go into a bar and order a drink – I have to pay seniors $5 for a case of shitty beer."

He chuckled at her attempt at humor. "Hard to believe you're eighteen. Hard to be talking to you and see a different Monica looking at me. I mean, yeah, you talk just like her, well, you haven't started with any crazy theories yet, but you know what I mean. Your voice is higher though, and you certainly don't look a day over 18 – "

"Hey!" she giggled, kicking him under the table, even though she knew it was true.

" – but it's you alright. We've been friends for nine years, but that doesn't actually start for another six years. How crazy is that?"

"Very. But in six years you should be able to stop Harvey and save Luke and then we'd have no reason to meet."

"Yeah. God, this does a number on my head. Can we talk about something else for a while? Tell me how your classes are going." He grinned, knowing full well he was teasing her for her particularly unfortunate situation.

"They're going just as well as I remember. I've study every night. I've already had one test. I've got a paper due next Friday. And it's never any fun to have to redo work you've already done once. The only good is that it's all coming back to me. I have a feeling I'll be able to regain my reading fluency in Hebrew by the end of the year, maybe skip ahead to the highest level now instead of waiting till my junior year. Not that I plan on staying here that long."

"Wait, Hebrew?"

"Religious studies major, remember?"

"Wow. No wonder I went into Public Administration."

Monica smiled, but her mind was already elsewhere. "What should we do John? I'm afraid to mess things up. That whole thing about how a butterfly flaps its wings and a tsunami happens on the other side of the world...what if we do something and radically change the future for the worse? What if – "

"Mon, look, we can't play the what-if game. Ok? We've been given a second chance here, we should at least use it to change things for the better and try not to worry about the outcome. Besides, we don't know how long this will last."

"What do you think happened? What could we have done? Do you remember any cases similar to this?"

"Mulder had a case about a man supposedly from the future who came back in time to stop time-travel from ever being developed."

"That could be useful. Do you remember his name?"

"Nah. Unfortunately, I don't have Mulder's photographic memory. Do you think that's what happened though? I mean, that guy came back at the age he was when he left the future – he wasn't the same age as he had been in the past. He left at 84, and he got to the past at 84 – and his former self was still in the past. We seemed to have aged backwards. I don't know much about time travel but I don't think that's what happened to us.

"There was another event that might actually be closer, but it was only notes, not an official case. Mulder wrote that he kept waking up, reliving the same day again and again. Finally, he stopped something from happening – a bank robbery or murder – and then life continued on."

"Sound like he might have watched Groundhog's Day one too many times."

John gave another laugh. "One could make similar arguments for most of the X-files. Anyway, I'll talk to some people, see what they know, ok?"

"Ok. Are you ready for my 'crazy theory'?" She smiled warmly at him, letting him know it was ok to say that earlier. "What if this isn't something that could be explained by science or even science fiction? What if this is something more mystical? I've been searching various myths and cultures for similar stories, but haven't dug up anything yet. Possibly some sort of soul transference. And there's always literature as well, springing from cultural myths into folklore. You remember the story of Merlin, though, how he went through time backwards?"

John rolled his eyes. "I'd rather stick with Star Trek here. Science fiction seems much more plausible than kids' stories."

"Ok, then, what about that time you were in another dimension? Do you think this could be something like that?"

"Hey, you're the only one that remembers that. And if I recall correctly, there was no time shift."

"There was at the end." She shuddered slightly at the memory of letting the other John go. "Then everything shifted back to normal."

"Are you saying that in 1987 we both somehow ended up walking through a portal to another dimension and something we did in 2002 set it back again?" he asked, his tone suddenly harsh.

"Perhaps, but I don't know what happened. Or maybe we walked through a portal in 2002 and slipped back to 1987. I'm just throwing out ideas," she responded, as calmly as she could.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to jump down your throat like that. Actually, it does make more sense than anything else, but not enough sense to accept it. Like you said, we might have done something to set if off. We're the only two – that we know of – who are in this situation. We didn't know each other in 1987 – now – so it seems to suggest that we made this happen in 2002. We just gotta figure out what."

"Which is exactly what we came here to discuss."

"So, maybe it's going to take a while. Maybe we don't figure it out today. We're at a huge disadvantage – you're only 18 and still in school and I am a cop with a family. The X-files aren't even up and running yet. We have no resources other than what we create and find."

"The X-files... when did you say Mulder re-opened them?"

"Beginning of '92. We still have a long time to go."

"What do you suppose would happen if we contacted him for help?"

"Like you were saying about the butterfly flapping its wings, his timeline could be completely thrown out of whack. The X-files became an outlet for his obsession. Who knows how introducing them to him now would change him in the future."

"I don't mean we need to tell him about the X-files. Maybe he could help though."

"He'd probably just tell us we were abducted by aliens."

Monica had to fight back her smile. "There's a theory we haven't yet examined."

"There's a theory I don't want to examine." He looked down at his watch. "Monica, I think I should be heading out. I don't want Barbara to think I'm cheating on her."

Her eyes bore into him. Though they hadn't yet discussed it, just before this whole nightmare began, it was becoming very apparent that they had feelings for one another. He knew exactly what her stare implied. And he chose to ignore it by looking away and getting up from the table. "I'll pay. You're just a starving student again."

She couldn't smile at him. She was hurt, hurt more than the mere fact that he was with Barbara and wanted to stay with her. Now he was ignoring that there was anything between them. "John..."

"No, Monica. No. Just no."

They didn't talk during the ride back. "I'll call you as soon as I have something to report," he said when he stopped outside the train station.

She tried to tell him with her eyes that she loved him, but he pulled a face and said goodbye.


	5. Chapter 5

January 25

Two weeks had passed without a call from John. She'd spent a lot of time in various states of unhappiness - when she could afford the time to luxuriate in her emotions, that is. Most of her time was taken up with the course load from hell. On top of that, she was spending every free moment she had researching time travel and fluctuations, but was coming up empty-handed. She hoped that at the very least John was doing what he could to find an explanation.

College was proving to be quite the obstacle. She remembered it being tough, but she'd conveniently forgotten all the pain she'd endured to graduate with both a bachelors and a masters in four years. But at least she had the fortitude of an eighteen-year-old again, and found the sleepless nights to be much more bearable than they had been just a few weeks ago in 2002. Still, nothing eased the pain of the grinding, never-ending cycle of lectures, studies, tests, and papers. There wasn't much to be done, however. She'd never regretted her decision to go to Brown or to endure this hell. Sometimes she wondered how her life would have gone had she stayed in Academia, but joining the FBI had always consoled her. Her life, her struggles, everything had all suddenly made sense. There was nothing major she wanted to change. And it had led her to John.

It occurred to her at some point that John was sleeping with Barbara. Of course he was. He was happy to be back. He'd said it himself – it was good to be back with his wife before things went bad. And of course he didn't want his wife to suspect he had something going on on the side. The rational part of her brain told her that this was how it had to be. But the rest of her brain felt the stabbing pain of rejection that didn't exist in 2002 and couldn't be avoided now.

She also suspected that John was not really working on this as hard as he had promised her he would. How could she expect him to do any investigating when there was a smiling son to give him joy? Obviously, she would have to shoulder the burden. She managed to squeeze in a meeting with a professor of physics in between her classes. The man was delighted to talk at length about time travel, which would perhaps forever be just theory or maybe even fanciful thinking, he'd said. But as soon as she asked about souls being transferred, rather than whole bodies, he scowled as only a professor could scowl and advised her to take her questions to the philosophy department.

There was no place for her or her feelings in this world. John was well beyond her grasp. But would she be capable of figuring out a way to return them both to 2002, a way that would inevitably take Luke away from John yet again? She again wondered why they were here. If John had been returned to save Luke, then why was he returned now? It would have made far more sense for him to be returned just before the abduction. And what was her purpose here? There was none, not that she could figure. And if there was no real purpose for their return to this particular spot in time, then it suggested to her that whatever had happened had little if anything to do with them.


	6. Chapter 6

February 2

"I'm trying here, Barbara. I really am."

"Maybe that's the problem."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe if you quit putting so much effort into everything you wouldn't come off so overburdened!"

"Overburdened? I'm not overburdened. I don't understand you."

"It's like you're trying too hard, trying to make up for something. Flowers, gifts, nights out? Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?"

"Why can't you just take it as it is? Maybe I had a wake-up call."

"A wake-up call? Why do you need a wake-up call? Are you implying that our marriage is troubled? That we're not working hard enough at it?"

"No, of course not. I just, I just want to make sure you're happy. I'm sorry if I'm overdoing it. I'll back off, I swear. I just... I want you to know what you mean to me, that I love you."

"Do you really? You know, when you finished your degree and joined the police, you were supposed to have more time. But now all of a sudden, you're working late, you're going in early, you're taking off in the middle of the day and not telling me what's going on. And then you come home and you cling to me and to Luke and you go out of your way to make up for things. And to top it all off, you're not yourself anymore. You're so much more serious these days, you're so... so... morose! You only laugh when Luke is around, but when you look at him... it scares me... there's fear in your eyes. What are you scared of? What is going on?"

Barbara was hysterical at this point, unable to control the volume of her words or the tears flowing from her eyes. John made to comfort her, but she stepped away from him. There would be none of that until he did some explaining.

"Ok, so maybe I've changed. I don't know why. Maybe something happened at work that sunk in more that I realized. But you've got to believe me when I say I'm dedicated to you and Luke. I just want us to be happy."

"God, John, are you even listening to me? That's what I'm saying! You want us to be happy, but we were happy! There was nothing wrong. Why are you acting like there is?"

"I'm not. Look, Barbara, I don't know what you want me to say. You want things to be like they were before, ok, fine, I'll act like I was before."

"Before? What do you mean? What happened John? Something did happen at work, didn't it? What was it?"

"Nothing. Nothing happened."

"Why won't you talk to me?"

"I'm trying Barbara, but I'm just not getting far. Why don't we leave this as it is and talk tomorrow?"

Her eyes burned with frustration. "Fine," she said sharply and walked out of the kitchen. When John finally made his way to the bedroom, he found a blanket and pillow folded on the other side of the closed door. Obviously he wouldn't be sharing his wife's bed tonight.

He lay on the floor of his son's room, listening to his steady breathing. Things were disintegrating faster than he'd expected in the four weeks since his return. He wasn't sure what to do. Everything he thought would help strengthen the marriage was only coming off as suspicious in Barbara's eyes. He thought about his divorce. It had been a painful, but by that point, inevitable event. The separation had happened just months after Luke's death and it marked the first time he'd turned to Monica as a friend. She'd always been there to listen to his woes during that time, and when it came time to sign the divorce papers, she came with him to give him the support he needed and could get from no other source.

She'd always talked to him reasonably when he could no longer think straight. When he would blame himself, she would console him with reminders of his efforts and loyalty – after all, he had not asked for the divorce and had instead tried to correct his faults to no avail during the separation. When he began to think it was Luke's death that had set it off, Monica would calmly tell him that the death of a child only breaks up a marriage that was doomed already. When he blamed Barbara for not trying hard enough, she would remind him that people grew apart and they'd married so young – at 21 – and that growing and changing were not negative qualities. She would say in her strong, caring tone that Barbara had moved on and he needed to do the same.

It was very apparent who he needed to talk to right now. Of course, he didn't feel it to be appropriate, calling her from his house at 10 o'clock at night. He worried that Barbara would overhear him, or worse, would sneak onto the other line and listen in. But he wanted to talk to her, to get her advice before the conversation resumed tomorrow morning. He peeled himself from up off the floor and headed outside. He was trying to be quiet in hopes of staying under Barbara's radar, so he left the car behind and jogged the mile and a half to the nearest payphone.


	7. Chapter 7

February 2

Monica was up putting the final touches on her latest paper for her Bible as literature class when she was called down to the dorm lobby to answer the phone. Three weeks without a word from him; she feared the worse – he'd chosen to forgo an investigation into their situation in favor of saving his family. It was noble of him, and it didn't surprise her in the least, but she wasn't quite fond of being left where she was, nor being left there alone. And the thought of his giving up on their future together – future in both senses – pained her so much she avoided as best she could thinking about the subject.

"John? Did you learn something?"

"No. I'm sorry, honestly, I haven't been spending as much time on it as I should. But I have been working on it. Just nothing to report."

"Oh. Then why did you call?"

"I wanted your advice."

"What kind of advice?" Even he wasn't so clueless as to miss the exasperation in her voice.

"You were always there for me during the divorce and I... I mean, things aren't going as well as I'd hoped they would. They're going much worse, in fact. Barbara's suspicious of everything I do and say. I don't know what to do, Mon."

"John, I can't help you with this. Don't you understand? Yes, I was there for you when you were having marital problems the first time, but I can't do it now. Things aren't the same between us. We were friends then. We're... something else... in 2002. Don't expect me to ignore that."

He was silent for a long while. "I'm sorry. God, I'm such an idiot. I don't know what I'm doing."

"You'll figure it out, John. I just can't be objective for you."

"I'm sorry. Do you... do you want to meet in New York this weekend?"

"No, not till you figure it all out. Or until you actually have something that gets us closer to the truth."

There was more silence. Much more than before.

"John?"

"I'm an ass, ok?"

"Hey, I didn't say that. You're in a precarious position, and I understand your desire to save your marriage, I really do. I'm just unable to help you... I've got homework, anyway. I should go."

"Monica, I'm sorry."

"I know. Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight."


	8. Chapter 8

February 2

He was an ass. Right now, all he wanted to do was hop in the car and drive to Providence and finally show Monica that he cared for her. But he couldn't do that, of course.

Back home, he found that he hadn't snuck out unnoticed. Barbara was waiting for him in the kitchen.

"Where were you?"

"I needed some air. Went for a jog. I'm going to shower now."

She followed him wordlessly back to the bedroom, ignoring him along the way, and started to get back into bed. He wasn't sure what drove him to do this – was it the fact that she looked so good, or did it have something to do with his desire for Monica? – but he called her to him, and she came, recognizing something in his voice. He pulled her into the shower and made love to her until there was no more hot water. Curled up in bed together naked and still damp-headed, she whispered a thank you into his ear.

"What for?"

"For making love to me. You haven't initiated sex in weeks. I was nervous. I guess, maybe that's why I was so upset tonight. I'm sorry about that."

"No apologies. I'm the one who should apologize. I really have been out of sorts lately."

"Shh. No apologies, right? We should sleep. Luke will be up in a few hours."

He pulled her closer and felt relief for the first time since this began. He wouldn't blow his second chance after all.

His tranquility did not last long. He awoke feeling ill to his stomach, images of a teenage boy drowning in a river of blood, his own hands too slippery from the blood to save him. The boy felt familiar, though John could not see his face. He knew that it had to be related to their predicament, and he knew that he should let Monica know, but he certainly couldn't call her now, and he fell back asleep telling himself he'd call her from the station the next day . But work was busy and there never was a chance to get to the phone, and then it was the weekend and he took his wife and child out to the beach, and then it was Monday , and busy again. On and on he continued to put it off until the dream was forgotten.


	9. Chapter 9

February 3

When Monica awoke, she lay very still, eyes still closed, and focused on the dream she'd had. She saw Luke, the baby in the photograph John had shown her weeks earlier. He was smiling and cooing at John who cradled him in his arms and looked up at her with pride. And then the baby had turned into William, her sweet little boy, now abandoned to make his way in the world without the mother who bore him, or even the woman who oversaw his birth and felt just a little possessive of him. She held him now, big boy that he was, trying to talk, grabbing at her lips as she giggled with him. But then, there wasn't a baby any longer, but a boy, Luke, on the ground in the meadow where he was found, not dead, but dying. She was holding his head in her hands. She felt John's presence, but when she looked for him, she could not find him, and she felt a panic consume her as his son died in her arms. And suddenly, Luke was gone and instead a teenager had taken his place. John was there but she couldn't remember how or even what their connection to the boy was. Was he Luke? Was he William? Were they holding him too? Was he dying?

She struggled, but consciousness was quickly stealing the finer points of the dream from her. As best she could, she recorded the details in a journal and resisted the urge to call John. He wasn't interested in such portents and she wasn't interested in talking to him after the previous night's call.

The dream stayed with her, though no more details emerged. But halfway through her mythology class the following week , it struck her – had Luke lived, he would have been 15 in 2002, roughly the age of the boy in her dream. They had returned to the time of Luke's infancy, and while she could not explain anything further, she knew, without a doubt in her soul, that there was a connection. And it reminded her anew that as unpleasant as her predicament was, John's was far worse.

Was it his love for Luke that had somehow brought them back? Was the triggering event in 2002 caused by John? Was the boy in her dream real, as real as Luke and William? And how would she ever convince him to reverse whatever had happened when it would mean losing his son all over again?

For three days she debated calling John, but finally gave in. She'd hoped she would be able to figure it out herself, and she'd hoped for another dream that might take her a little further into the mystery, but there was nothing.

After several failed attempts over many days , some due to her own uncertainty, some due to John not being at the station, she finally reached him.

"I had a dream a couple weeks ago. I think it might have something to do with our situation." He didn't respond for a long time, and all she could hear were phones ringing and voices of his fellow officers. "John?"

"Same here, 'bout two weeks back," he said, which was not at all what Monica was expecting him to say.

"What did you dream?"

"Can't talk. It's busy here. I'm not really sure I can discuss this. Can I call you back later?"

She said yes, and she tried her best to not be disappointed as the days, then the weeks ticked by without a word from him. She was doing the best she could to stay sane, focusing on her time travel research, which was still too hypothetical to be helpful. The answers were out there, somewhere. John could fight and deny this all he wanted, but she wasn't going to give up. At least, not on getting home. She was starting to give up on him already.

So she was a little more than surprised when one Saturday she caught sight of a familiar set of ears attached to a familiar head bearing a familiar crew cut. He was busy studying the campus map.

"Looking for Diman Hall? Or the library? Because even though it's a Saturday, the person you're looking for probably has plans to study all afternoon in a quiet carrel, rather than in a dorm that's got four-day head start on St. Patrick's Day."

He smiled unabashedly at her, the tips of his ears red from the cold. "I wonder if she even has time in her busy schedule for me."

"She might." She hung back cautiously, unsure of what his visit would entail, unable to be truly excited.

"How you doing, Mon? I thought you could use a surprise."

"It worked. How are you?"

"I'm alright. All things considered, of course. Brought some food for a picnic. Pastrami sandwiches from the city… why are you smiling?"

"Because you're actually here. I wasn't sure I'd see you again. Also, it's freezing and you want to have a picnic."

"Thought maybe we could camp out in your dorm room, but if they're partying, maybe not. And as for not seeing me again, yeah, things are … strange right now, but I'm not walking away from you. I wanted to see you, see how you're doing, talk about our situation. So, Ms. Brown University, where does one picnic on campus when it's 32 degrees outside?"

"The SciLi."

"The what?"

"The Sciences Library. It's a concrete monolith where one can often find entire deserted floors. Great for sneaking in food. I've been spending copious amounts of time there since… you know." She smiled to show she really didn't want to talk about it just yet. "I was on my way there, as a matter of fact."

Sure enough, there was not a single student to be found on the eleventh floor, and they made their way to a back corner, near a window, and John spread out the picnic blanket he'd brought. They sat there eating and laughing, quickly falling back into their pre-time travelling friendship.

"I miss this, Mon," John suddenly said, just a second after she'd finished a particularly hilarious story about her roommate.

She stopped laughing, but kept the smile on her face, though several emotions flitted over her face. "I miss this too. I miss you."

He reached out, impulsively for him, and took her hand. He kept his eyes on it, rubbing her hand, turning it over in his, gripping it tightly. "The worst part is not having you with me. 'Cause I miss you too."

She squeezed his hand back, not sure what to say, not wanting to ruin the moment. He looked up at her, his eyes searching for something, before leaning in, pulling her towards him, and pressing his lips gently against hers.

A barely audible noise echoed through the floor of the library and they both broke away to turn towards it. Monica spotted someone in the stacks, who was pulling out a book. "Student," she said, laughing nervously.

John turned his attention back to her, but spoke softly. "Like I said, I missed you. Been thinking about you. Wishing we could fix things, but not sure how, you know?"

She nodded sagely. "What's going on… with Barbara?" she asked, the words unwilling to leave her mouth.

"Still stressful. We have our good days and our bad days. Sometimes, I look at her and I remember what it was to love her, but most of the time, I look at her and nothing's there, not like love at all. She'll grow tired of me one day, and I guess she's already starting to feel that. Maybe she really was back in the real '87 and I just didn't notice. Maybe you'll get tired of me too one day. I know I exasperate you, and I'm real sorry 'bout that."

She grinned. "I wouldn't have you any other way," she said, and then leaned over for another kiss, which was again cut short by sounds from the stacks.

"I think our intruder might be a bit of a voyeur. Perhaps we should pack up and find another floor."

John took a look at his watch. "I'm about to be exasperating… it's already been nearly two hours. I really need to hop back on a train and get home." There was no hiding the disappointment on Monica's face. "See, that's why I warned you. I knew you'd hate to hear that."

"It's just… we haven't even started to discuss what's going on with the time flux. I've been reading so much lately. There's so much to go over with you."

"I know. I promise, though, I'll be in touch. And I'll try to get up here again, or maybe you can come down to the city. We'll get it all sorted out, I promise."

There was nothing she could do but accept it with a less than enthusiastic nod.

"I promise," he repeated. And then he was gone, leaving her to find another floor of the SciLi, which had never felt so empty to her before.


	10. Chapter 10

March 15

"Who is she?" cried Barbara hysterically. A picture of Monica and John sitting mid-kiss in the library at Brown was crumpled up on the table in front of him. He was crying too.

Barbara fell to her knees. John dropped his head in his hands.

"Why are you doing this to me? To us? To your son?" she asked, her voice thick with sobs. Luke's wails grew sharper – he'd been crying since the yelling had started ten minutes earlier.

"Why, John? Why?" She looked up at him, the pain on her face so clear. "God dammit! Say something!"

"She's someone from my past."

"Your past? Since when do you have a past that didn't involve me?"

"We've known each other for years."

"Years? Look at her! She can't be a day over 15!"

"She's 18." His voice was hollow.

"What is this? What is going on? How far back into your past does this go? Do you have a predilection for teenage girls?" She jumped to her feet. "I'll fucking report you, John! I'm calling the station right now." She grabbed for the phone, but John beat her to it, placing his hand over it.

"Sit down," he said coldly.

"Don't you tell me what to do. I'm not the one screwing around. I'm not the adulterer! I'm not the pedophile!"

"Dammit, Barbara!" He swallowed and concentrated on calming himself down. "She…she's just a friend." Barbara opened her mouth to debate that, but John quickly continued. "Yes, I know we kissed. But that was the first time. It never went past that. And it will never happen again."

"You're damned right it won't, because if it does, I'm going to divorce you so fast your head will spin." She stood up and looked him dead in the eye. "And you can be assured that I will take Luke away from you and you will never see him again. Never. Do you hear me, John? Never."

She left him to his tears and tended to Luke. He heard her slamming drawers, and running about from Luke's room to the bathroom to their room. And when she came back in, a bag slung over her shoulder, and a red-faced Luke, still upset, settled on her hip, he barely had the energy to protest her decision to stay with her mother for a while.

He didn't know how long he sat unmoving at the table, but it was dark when he finally reached for the phone.

"What's wrong, John?" asked Monica, who knew from the tears in his voice that this had something to do with Barbara.

"She knows. She knows about you."

"How? Did you tell her?"

"She had one of my buddies from the station follow me yesterday. That person in the library, that was a cop, not a student. He took pictures of us. She knows."

Monica was silent. She could feel the inevitable coming before John finally spoke.

"She says she'll take Luke away from me. I think she can do it too. Her father's a lawyer. He never did like me. Always said I was worthless. Never there for her. And now this. Monica, I can't lose him." John began to sob. Monica closed her eyes. She couldn't breathe.

"This is it, isn't it?" she asked quietly.

John didn't – couldn't – speak, but she knew he had nodded.

"You're staying with Luke. You're staying here in '87."

"I can't give him up, Monica. I have another chance with him. Please understand."

"I do."

"I want you both. But he's my son."

"I know. I can't… I can't talk about this anymore." Monica too could no longer hold back her own tears. "Goodbye, John. I… I love you," she said to him, for the first time ever. And with that she hung up the phone and walked away.


	11. Chapter 11

April 4

Every weekend, from Thursday through Sunday night, there were parties. She couldn't remember which ones she'd attended, and which ones she'd skipped, so she was completely at the mercy of her own current predilections, to hell with the timeline. And after a couple parties, she was definitely not swayed to attend more. But her best friend Melanie, who would remain a good, close friend for many years to come, was insistent that she attend the St. Anthony Hall party , and specifically needed a friend to be with her in case Derek failed to attend.

Monica remembered many a great party at St. A's – mainly because Melanie went on to join the order – but most of those parties were all blurred together in her mind. Still, she closed her books for the night and dressed in the appropriate attire and headed out. At the very least, between the alcohol, the people, and the dancing, she'd probably be able to forget about John for a couple hours.

Derek was already there and waiting, and soon Monica found herself sitting alone in a corner. It wasn't that she was trying to remain unnoticed, or that she felt abandoned, or that she felt out of place, she just found in this moment of frivolity an opportunity to sit and watch this world circulating around her, a world that wasn't really hers.

A familiar face popped into her field of view. The girl smiled and sat nearby. It took Monica only a second to place her. "Lanie!" she exclaimed, but no sooner had she said that than she doubted whether or not they had met yet.

"Um, hi? Have we met?" Apparently they had not. Monica froze for a second, and then, as some of the more memorable moments she'd shared with Lanie flashed in her head, she relaxed and decided to go with it.

"Well, no, not exactly. But we should." She held out her hand. "I'm Monica."

"Lanie," she said, shaking Monica's hand while giving her a curious eye. "But you already knew that. How did you know that?"

Monica didn't answer, but instead smiled mysteriously. Did they meet here? She could not recall. But they had met, and they had hit it off, and Lanie had become her first female lover. Given that John was now devoted to his former life, she felt no reason why she should not at least find some pleasure in her own history.

She stayed with Lanie that night (and many more nights afterward), remembering to claim she was a virgin in the Sapphic sense, but not caring to prove it when words were no longer needed. It was a fling, it had never been more than a fling then, but right now it was a fling she desperately needed. There was nothing else she could do. Time was ticking by, answers seemed more and more out of reach as one possibility after another failed to have merit. Her grades were suffering, by her standards and in comparison to the ones that she'd earned the first time around, but she stopped caring as much. There was nothing to give her hope, nothing to ease the uncertainty. There were just Lanie's kisses and everything that followed.

"You seem so sad sometimes," Lanie said to her one night , running her long, thin fingers through Monica's mass of youthful hair.

"Do you ever get the sense that you are in the wrong place at the wrong time? Like if you'd been born 20 years earlier or 20 years later, life would make more sense?" asked Monica, tracing her own fingers down the pale white flesh stretched tight over Lanie's small, narrow frame.

"All the time," said Lanie with a bit of a laugh. "But it would be so much worse if I were trapped in the 60s, you know? At least here, I get to be out, and have a girl in my bed when I so choose. But I bet it will be a hundred times more amazing twenty years from now."

Monica looked at Lanie's face, with a trail of light brown freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and her delicate cheekbones. Her light red hair was long and seemed to flow all around her. She tried to picture what Lanie would look like in 2002 and regretted not keeping in touch with her after school. What did the future hold for her? She imagined great things, of course: novels, travels, academic posts, adventures, and great love.


	12. Chapter 12

May 17

Even though it had been two months since Barbara had learned about Monica and he'd kept his promise to not see her again, it had rent a hole in the fabric of their marriage. Being home was a certain kind of hell now. He hadn't slept in his own bed in weeks. His wife was cold towards him on the best of days. Any and every attempt to placate her blew up in his face, and yet he kept trying. Flowers, dinners, presents, jewelry, helping out around the house, none of it inspired anything but suspicion and resentment. She knew that it stemmed from his indiscretion, and every action reminded her of it anew. But to not do anything upset her as well, for she felt he was thinking of someone else. He could do nothing but soldier on.

Every moment of John's personal life was filled with shame and fear, except when he was alone with Luke. But even then, he could feel Barbara's eyes on him. He wasn't allowed to leave the house alone with his son, even to take him for a walk, because, as his wife had told him in a raised voice, she didn't trust that he wouldn't take their son to see "that _girl_."

There was no trust whatsoever. The officer who had tracked him down, Officer Dunlin, now watched his every move. John suspected that Dunlin called Barbara the moment he left the precinct, and as he wanted his wife to trust him again, he always made a point to tell the officer goodnight.

Despite the extra pair of eyes on him, work offered him what home didn't. Since his return, John had developed a stellar record. His memories of old cases, though weak and hazy, were usually enough to give him an edge on what were now his current cases. He seemed to have a knack for knowing where a criminal was hiding, or what kind of questions to ask a suspect, or what to look for at the scene. He was grateful that work was giving him joy and solace, which were sorely missing from his family life.

But this day, roughly five and a half months since his return, was completely unfamiliar to him. It was a routine domestic dispute call. The wife was hysterical when they arrived on the scene, shrieking and pleading for their help. The husband sat subdued in a chair, barely acknowledging the arrival of two police officers, much less the screaming of his wife.

John's partner, Glen O'Reilly, the partner he had before Duke Tomasick, looked to him for guidance, having learned that John usually knew exactly what to do, but John just raised his eyebrows to show his lack of answers. It was impossible to ascertain what was going on, since the wife, a Mrs. Paulus, was still incapable of speaking in a normal, rational tone, while Mr. Paulus was just refusing to speak at all.

Mrs. Paulus had seen Glen look to John, and she picked up on the cue immediately, prostrating herself at his feet. John helped her up and escorted her away from the living room, leaving Glen to speak to the taciturn husband.

"Mrs. Paulus," he said gently, out in the hallway, "I need you to lower your voice and tell me as simply as you can what exactly happened."

"He threatened to kill me! The bastard said he would kill me!"

"Did he have a weapon?"

"No. Yes. I mean, he could kill me with his hands, or a knife, or a gun. But he means more than that. He means to make me not exist. Ever. He can do that."

"Ma'am, would you like to come to the station and fill out a police report? We can put out a restraining order against him. Do you have some place safe to stay?"

She shook her head. "You don't believe me. But it's true. I don't know how, but he can just rip the soul out of a person and make it like they never existed."

John looked at her and could tell that no matter what her story was, she certainly believed it to be true. He looked back at the husband, scrutinizing his face for the first time. There was something familiar about him, but strangely not about this case. And he felt he would certainly remember such a case.

Mrs. Paulus looked at him expectantly, hoping that he would believe her.

"What do you mean your husband can make it so a person never existed? What makes you think this?"

"He's told me. I don't have any proof, 'cause once he makes someone disappear like that, there isn't anything for anyone to remember. Sometimes he tells me I had a sister, but he made her disappear. I don't know if that's true, 'cause I only remember having my two older brothers, but it's scary. He said he would make teachers disappear in school, and sometimes bullies and once he made the mayor disappear."

After several more minutes of incoherent blathering, John explained that they needed to take her to the station so she could give a statement and so that they could determine the validity of her husband's threat. He did not respond to what she'd said, but part of him felt that there might be a connection to his own strange case. If that were true, he and Monica might be one step closer to solving the mystery.

Back at the station, Mr. Paulus sat in a small, concrete room undergoing questioning. John looked at him from the other side of the window. He knew this man's face, but for the life of him, he didn't know why. The previous two domestic disputes involving the Pauluses had been handled by different officers. The man worked in a borough that John rarely frequented. They had no common interests or activities. Nothing to suggest that other than random encounters on the streets or the subway they had ever had any contact.

Glen came into the room with two cups of coffee, one of which he offered to John. "What do you think?"

"I think we got a world-class asshole on our hands, but probably not a murderer. That ain't saying he's not capable. But he's got no police record outside of two disputes. No tickets, no fines, no incidents, no nothing. Maybe the man's just got a temper and says a lot of shit he really ought to keep to himself. She claims that he's never even hit her, and her medical records are clean. We just need to find out if he's really a threat or not."

John kept the interrogation going far longer than a normal domestic dispute case would last. Usually, they went in, got a statement, asked a few questions, and then dealt with the victim. Glen came out after the second hour. "Alright, buddy, that's about as much as I can take talking to a wall. If you want to keep him in there, you're going to have to take over. Becky's gonna be pissed if I miss dinner again tonight."

John had no reason to hurry home. He left the perp sitting in the questioning room alone while he went to get a cup of coffee for the man, making sure to pass by Dunlin's desk with a nod of acknowledgment. He came into the room, set the coffee down, and sat in front of the guy, drinking his own coffee and staring. Finally, he leaned in. "What gets me is that I know I've seen you before, but I just can't figure out where or when. I've been through your records a dozen times, and there's just nothing to connect us."

"New York's a big city. You can't hold me just because we might have sat across from one each other on the subway once."

"Nah, it's more than that, and I think you know what I mean." Paulus smirked but didn't respond. "Your wife told me something, something about your ability to make a person stop existing."

Paulus laughed. "Too many science fiction movies, Officer?"

"Too much real life science fiction." John looked back at the mirror behind him. He'd made sure it was cleared out before he came in here, but he really couldn't chance that someone might be watching or listening. "With your wife not pressing charges and not showing any signs of abuse, I don't have much reason to hold you here. They're going to make me release you in the next few minutes." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But I've got questions for you, questions that I can't ask you here. I just wanna see if we can make some sort of deal so you agree to talk to me."

"Got no reason to talk to you after I get out."

"True. But I know where you live. So you can either agree to talk to me or I can just track you down."

"Still not gonna talk to you."

John shrugged and stood up, chugging the last of his coffee, and then walked out the door. He hoped that his hands hadn't started shaking until he'd left the room, because right now he could barely hold on to his mug. He sat down on the other side of the mirror, his face ashen, and he knew, without a doubt, that Paulus had something to do with the reason he and Monica were back in 1987.


	13. Chapter 13

With just one more paper to write and some last minute cramming for her Hebrew final, Monica was close to surviving the first semester of her unexpected return trip to college. She was not, however, close to solving the mystery of what had brought her here.

The first time through school, she'd worked like a dog, never taking a break from her studies, focusing on her goal – a BA and an MA in five years – and letting nothing get in her way. Now, she was burnt out already, and she hadn't bothered to sign up for summer classes. Instead, she would go home, see her parents and her friends back in Mexico City, doing whatever she could to adapt to her situation and forget the future that she might never return to.

Putting aside her flashcards and ignoring all the packing still left, she decided that she would try one last time to find some answers. It would be in vain, no doubt, but a few letters to noted physicists would not hurt. She sat down, amidst piles of books and the almost completed term paper that was due the next morning, to scratch out letters to the list of various academics she had compiled in her head. And then she decided to finally contact the one person who really could be of use.

"Dear Mr. Mulder," she wrote, before wearily scratching it out. "Dear Fox Mulder." "Dear Mulder." She sighed, chewed on her pen, and finally wrote "Fox Mulder." But then what? Could she really do this? Could she bring him into this mess, and thereby alter his timeline to the point where if they were truly stuck in their situation, there was no chance to bring things to where they had naturally gone?

At this point, however, she did not feel like she had many options. How much closer were they to getting back to where they belonged? John may have been satisfied with his options, but Monica had nothing. She was fully convinced that whatever had happened had been for John's sake, and possibly for Luke's sake if her dreams meant anything, and knowing that made it a little easier to forgive him. But she didn't understand why she'd been pulled back as well, only to be abandoned. So she was desperate for help and answers, and so her pen continued to move across the paper.

_My name is Monica Reyes and my story may be hard for some people to believe, but I have no doubt you will listen with an open mind. I believe something has happened to my timeline. Eight months ago, I was living in DC, aged 33, working for the FBI – in the year 2002. Then one morning I awoke to find that it was January 3, 1987; I was 18, back at home, and a university student again. My partner experienced the same thing and we seem to be the only two to whom this has happened. We knew you in the bureau, and of your interests in such paranormal phenomena. I think that you might be able to help us. I would like the opportunity to meet with you and further explain our situation._

She felt it satisfactory, but did not mail it just yet, out of uncertainty. It occurred to her too that if she was going to bring in Mulder, she might as well bring in Scully, who had studied physics as an undergrad. She remembered that she'd gone to UC Berkeley and the University of Maryland, but when she called the schools in search of a current student named Dana Scully, there was no mention. She wracked her brain for the name of the med school Dana had attended, but came up empty. Tracking down a young Scully's whereabouts would make for an interesting project for the summer.

The letter to Mulder was folded up and slipped into an envelope, but not sealed; she would take it home with her and decide later. Letters were mailed instead to Carl Sagan, and a few university professors, and a larger number of research scientists asking them her hypothetical question. She was sure that most of them would not even bother to respond, but again, if just one would, it might help her to find the right track.

It was still a shock to step off the plane a few days later and find her mother and father waiting for her, twenty years younger than they should be. Being at home, however, made her fear that she too would grow comfortable in her situation, just as John had. She regretted now, as her parents hugged her and kissed her, coming home when she should be continuing her studies. If she wasn't able to go back to 2002, she had no right to muck up her education.

She'd been in 1987 for almost six months now, and there were so many moments when she felt herself jerk back to reality, as if she had fallen asleep while sitting up. She was growing comfortable, now that school was behind her and she could relax, and she had to force herself to remember where she was. This was not her place. Sometimes she would touch her lips, thinking back to the kiss she'd shared with John in March. Now that memory was all she had of him and those precious moments were more often than not forgotten along with 2002.

Summer passed tranquilly, perhaps too tranquilly. She worked on her tan as she read the latest research from Mexican physicists, though as the June faded into July and then August, her reading material slowly shifted back to literature and non-fiction without a scientific bent. Before she knew it, she was packing her bags for a return to Brown, struggling to remind herself that this wasn't her place, yet finding for the first time a sort of acceptance, one that scared her a little. She found the now forgotten letter to Mulder still sitting in her suitcase, which reminded her of her forgotten pledge to track down Scully. Perhaps she would deal with it later at school.

When she returned to Brown, there was a nice stack of letters waiting for her. Two professors had sent books on time travel and relativity, three of the research scientists had sent out generic thank-you-for-your-letter forms and another had invited her to send in a resume for a research assistant. One said that he would meet with her, but he lived in Ohio, and she wasn't sure when she could get out there. And at the bottom of the pile of letters, and the one she chose to open last, was something from John.

She greeted it with a mixture of trepidation and elation. She was too afraid to read it and so she tucked it into the back pages of a textbook and tried to unpack instead. Finally, she could restrain herself no longer and opened it carefully, preparing herself for the worst.

_May 30, 1987_

_Dear Monica,_

_I'm sorry I've been out of touch with you. You deserve better. I haven't given up on finding out what happened to us. I've talked to people and read some stuff, but nothing's really come of it. A couple weeks ago, I crossed paths with someone I think might know what is going on. He was the perp in a DV call. Wife said he would make a person vanish, like they never existed at all. I know it doesn't sound directly connected, but there's just something about him that I can't shake, something that tells me he's connected somehow. He refuses to talk to me, so I've been following him, but nothing's happened yet. _

_Luke is getting so big. Little guy's already walking and saying Dada and stuff. Things are going pretty rough with Barbara still, which is why I'm writing instead of calling and having to explain something being on the phone bill. I think about you lots and wish that there was a clear cut answer in all this, but there isn't. And I suspect you know this already. _

_If you want to confront this guy, call me at work and we'll arrange something. You don't have to, of course, but I miss you Monica, and even if nothing can be done about it, I'd really like to see you too. _

_Yours,_

_John_

Monica was glad in that moment that her dorm room was empty. She pressed the letter to her heart as tears stung her eyes. The last month of summer break and she'd barely given him a thought. Now she was not sure how she could possibly wait until she could hear his voice on the phone again, or see him in person. It reminded her anew that 1987 was not the place she wanted to be. John's willingness to act on a hunch also pleased her and she was more than eager to meet this mystery man; if John thought he might be involved, then perhaps she would feel the same upon meeting him.


	14. Chapter 14

September 19, 1987

She felt unexpectedly nervous being back in the city again, knowing that she would see John in the hour. More than that, she was intrigued by the thought that John had come across someone that he felt had a connection to their situation.

Sitting on a bench in Brooklyn, she wondered if he would actually show up or not. He'd been so distant on the phone and insinuated that it might be hard to get away. They'd agreed upon a window of time, and so she sat, for an hour, watching the crowds rush by, until finally she saw his face.

Everything in her heart told her to keep a distance, to be prepared to be dismissed or held at arm's length. Despite trying as hard as she could to focus on Lanie since her return to school, she'd instead found herself cancelling more often than not. She'd bailed again the previous night, not sure that she could give her lover the attention she deserved. Her thoughts were reserved for someone else.

It was not the reception she'd prepared herself for. His stride increased as soon as he saw her and though he didn't smile, his faced showed something – relief? desire? desperation? love? Instead of saying hi, he said nothing, but wrapped his arms around her like she was the most precious thing in the world. She wondered if he would kiss her, and she prepared herself to pull away. She couldn't do that to herself; the hug was hard enough to bear.

Instead, he pulled away with a sad smile. "I've missed you, you know?" She smiled at that and nodded. "I'm glad you could come. This guy, he's got something going on, and he just seems so damn familiar. I'm hoping that if you look at him, you'll feel the same way. And even if you don't, we should talk to him."

They walked together to a spot outside the man's apartment and sat down together, all the while John filling in the details for her. Nothing about him sounded familiar, but she was more than willing to follow John's intuition. For another hour, they waited, sometimes sitting in uncomfortable silence, sometimes engaging in small talk that was just as uncomfortable. She felt at times as though she was being suffocated by all the things that could not be said.

"There he is," said John, pointing to a man who appeared to be in his late 20s. "Saturday afternoon, 'bout 3 o'clock, means he's probably heading to the pool hall up on 65th."

She studied the man carefully, hoping for the same recognition that John had experienced. He was remarkably average in appearance, with dark hair slicked back, a tight shirt, and a gold chain around his neck. He wore a scowl on his face. From her vantage point, nothing seemed familiar yet.

In the pool hall, though, they made eye contact and a flash of recognition crossed his face before he looked away. "He recognized me, John," she said quietly, without taking her eyes off of Paulus.

"Might be me he recognized. I mean, I did interrogate the man for hours, and he's caught me a couple times trailing him this summer.

Monica nodded, but she was sure that it was her that Paulus had reacted to. And she could feel it now, what she imagined John had felt. "I'm going to go talk to him."

He was seated at the bar, biding his time until a table opened up. When she sat beside him, he ignored her. "I think we've met," she said, looking straight at him.

"I think you're mistaken."

"I'd rather you not play coy, Mr. Paulus. We just want to have a conversation with you," she said, motioning back to John who was watching from a distance.

"Look, I got in a fight with my wife. That's part of marriage. That officer over there needs to leave me alone before I finally report him to the city. This is harassment."

"That's not what this is about."

"Could have fooled me. He's been on my tail ever since my neighbors called the cops on me and my wife."

"We know you, alright? We want to figure out why."

"You from Brooklyn?" Monica shook her head. "Well, I can't say I've ever really left it, so I'm not sure when we would have met. I think you and your friend should leave me alone now." He turned away, but didn't get up.

Monica continued to study him. She tried to picture him aged 15 years; then she tried to picture him younger.

"Do you have a son?"

"God, I hope not."

"Will you have a son? A son who would be about 14 in 2001?"

"So now you two think I can see into the future. Couple of crackpots. I've had enough. Thanks for ruining my day."

He started to walk off, but John intercepted, grabbing him by the arm. Monica rushed over.

"What did you do to us?" asked John in a harsh whisper. "How did you take us from 2001 and put us back into our bodies 15 years earlier? And why? What'd we do to you?"

"John," said Monica quietly before turning to Paulus. "Mr. Paulus – Anthony… His name was – will be – Vincent. I remember that now. He died in our arms. That's what brought us back here, isn't it? What your wife told John, that you could make a person disappear, that's part of it, isn't it? You killed him and we all went back to the moment Vincent was conceived."

The anger on Paulus' face was unmistakable. He looked hard at Monica's face, moving closer to her than John liked. "You are fucking insane," he said in a whisper so thick with rage that Monica shuddered. "You belong in a fucking looney bin."

He pulled out of John's grasp and stomped off to the door. "You two stay the fuck away from me!" he screamed loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear as he barged out.

John and Monica stood staring at the door, but it was not because of Paulus' exit – Barbara stood there in the doorway, with Officer Dunlin. The hall was quiet following the outburst, and the standoff between the Doggetts added to the chill in the air.

John's stomach hit the floor. Time stopped. His mind was spinning so fast he felt dizzy. He looked to Monica to see if she saw, which she did, and when he looked back to Barbara, she shook her head the way she did just before crying, and was out the door. With one more look at Monica, he raced after his wife, only to be stopped by Dunlin. "You've done enough damage now. Leave her alone."

"It's not what it looks like," said John desperately, his attention mostly focused on this wife who stood outside crying, though he could not help but look back to Monica. He didn't know what to do.

"Oh, I think it is exactly what it looks like. You just stay here with your teenage whore. I hope she's worth losing your wife and child for. You come near Barbara again and I will beat your ass myself. And no one at the station is going to defend you, John. It's over."

It was another hour before John was able to talk. They'd long since moved to a nearby park. Monica sat there feeling useless as John alternated between tears and stunned silence.

"I think it's time you told her," she finally said as dusk began to darken the sky.

"I thought we were keeping this to ourselves."

"It's killing her, John. She deserves to know. About us, I mean. And the only way to explain it is to tell her about what happened."

"She'll never believe me. And we have no proof. Sure, we recognize that guy, but I'm not so sure he knows what's going on."

"John, he's lying. I think he knows only too well what is happening."

"What good does he do us, though? He won't talk. He doesn't give a rat's ass whether or not we're stuck here."

"I know," she said with resignation. "I need to head back."

"I'll call you if anything happens."

"Alright," she said, but he could hear in her voice that she did not believe him, and he could see in the eyes that were barely able to look at him that she didn't expect to see him for a long time. He knew that she was probably right.


End file.
